


Fleeting moments

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fiction, Hurt/Comfort, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-02
Updated: 2004-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: John and Walter get bad news about a case while Alex and Fox get into a fight and Alex provides comfort and apologies to everyone through music.





	Fleeting moments

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Fleeting moments

### Fleeting moments

#### by laurel

  


Notes: Part of the foursome universe. In order of appearance: A Christmas wish, a new love, that's what friends are for, Popsicle toes, twister, tangled up in blue, the list, the jazz singer, debut, meet the neighbors, war games, the art of seduction, summer's end, what are you doing New Year's Eve?, ruminations, in dreams, one martini, two martini, three martini, floor; the dinner party. 

Boris Pasternak poem "You're here" quoted from "selected poems", published by Ernest Benn Ltd. of London. 

"The great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Charles Scribner and sons, inspired the last part of the story. 

The line "you can think whatever you want..." is from a newspaper article titled "A voice in Myanmar" about an American journalist, Hanna Ingber, working in Myanmar and the censorship she encountered working at a weekly newspaper. 

Lyrics for "possession" by Sarah McLachlan, from "Fumbling towards Ecstasy". 

Alex sang along to the CD player clipped to his worn jeans. The roses were nearly ripe to blooming. He moved along the row of bushes, plucking off the dead blossoms, clucking over the black spots and pulling at the weeds that dared defile his garden. 

He thought of it as his garden, even though it belonged to all of them. John wasn't interested and Walter liked the esthetics of greenery and would have been totally satisfied with the original look of the place. Fox's attention span, when it didn't involve UFO's or unexplained homicides, was that of a hamster on speed. 

He knew quite a bit about plants from his childhood, watching his mother putter around the tiny plot of their small home. He had a head full of tidbits and facts about flowers, pesticides, watering, weeds. 

From the abundant green space with the few rose bushes randomly placed for a splash of color, he'd filled the gardens surrounding the house with interesting textures and colors. He wasn't a snob when it came to planting. Peach colored lilies nestled among dusty miller, new roses in spectacular hues of sunset colors brightened up deep green bushes, the magnolia tree had been surrounded by lipstick red tulips edged with frilly petals in the spring, white daisies were installed in front of a miniature pine. 

Several varies of clematis intertwined so that shades of royal purple and silvery lilac twisted together on the trellis. The border plants hugged the sides of their boundaries as if guarding the plants within. He'd compared the shades of impatiens to see which colors complemented each other and mixed red with pure white and pink with violet. 

He memorized the Latin names of the flowers, thoughtfully kept all the little tags so that he knew how high and wide they would grow, when to prune and whether they preferred sun or shade. 

As he knelt to admire a sunset colored rose in varying shades from pink to gold, a pair of green eyes peered at him, blinking lethargically. 

"Well hello there, you must be Paws," he greeted the white cat with black markings. The cat held out a paw as if to shake Alex's hand. He took it with a grin. The claws flexed out and retreated. The cat had four black "socks", hence his name. Paws looked around and scratched at the dirt. "I hope you're not looking for baby birds, buddy. You're out of luck," Alex warned. The bird house he and Walter had made had been recently vacated by the family. He'd been planning on cleaning out the straw and bits of plastic they'd fashioned into a nest inside the small wood box. 

Paws meowed and moved on. He investigated the red geraniums in a painted pot and slunk away silently, looking for more things of interest. 

He moved to the next rose bush and inspected it, taking off the dead heads, carefully clipping a few stems to put in a vase, searching for weeds that had evaded him. The morning was the best time to be out. The afternoon was much too warm with the heat and humidity of middle summer. The weather inspired a siesta with a tall cold glass of iced tea at hand while lying in the shade and listening to the drone of cicadas. 

Another of Mrs. Kowalchuk's cats, a jet black one with amber eyes approached Alex and sniffed at the flowers. Alex played with him for a moment. He thought this cat's name was Boris. Must have been a Russian cat, Alex mused. He ran his fingers through the thick fur and rubbed the cat's head until it purred. The cat flinched at the bark of a nearby dog and hissed. He jumped through a money plant, disturbing the silver transparent leaves on his way to find the intruder. 

Alex finished by setting out the sprinkler on the emerald green lawn which in turn swept over the front gardens. He had already done the back lawn and the garden there, with its purple Iris standing tall in front of the fountain where birds splashed and drank. 

He took off his gardening gloves and threw the contents of the pail into the compost heap. 

He relaxed for a while, settling into a light nap, before heading to the community center. He'd gotten his certificate and was now teaching two classes a week on kick boxing and general self-defense. 

He'd get a shower in after, even though he was already sweaty from his yard work. But he'd be in even worse shape later after the class, driving home soaked from the vigorous workout. Another nap and a big dinner would help him recover from the punishing class. 

The class had twenty-five people, large enough for anyone not to feel self-conscious about sweating and working out in front of other people but small enough so that Alex could give his students his attention to correct stance or give advice on foot movement. 

He took them through a thorough ten-minute warm-up before they started into the work-out. Alex had spent several weeks learning from other instructors, watching classes and talking with the teachers before he embarked on teaching his own class. He created a routine, practiced it to figure out the time the class would require to warm up, work out, give personal attention to students until they knew the moves and cool down. He picked out motivational music that would move them effectively through the routines without disrupting them. He studied videotapes and books to help him motivate and teach his students and provide a fun but educational class. 

Now he moved them through the jabs and crosses, watching them all critically to see if they pivoted their feet at the right times, checking their arm movements. He moved through the students pointing out errors and giving helpful advice and encouragement. 

He taught them punches, jabs, crosses, right hooks, how to balance when doing side kicks, how to hold up their hands in front of their faces in defense, the bob and weave. 

By the time class was finished, the cool-down was a welcome end to the punishing exercise. The students lingered for a few minutes to ask about next week's class. Alex not only taught them kick boxing techniques but also simple self-defense techniques and advice on how to stay safe as well as how to ward off an attacker. The women were very interested in the latter lessons. He gave a fond farewell to Jesse and Hannah, subtly pestering her again about her famous brownie recipe. Apparently it was a family secret but he was bound and determined to discover it. They were two of his best students. It didn't hurt that they were his neighbors and friends and therefore got in a little extra practice time at his home. 

Alex went home to shower and dressed in only snug briefs, he crawled into bed. The covers were wonderfully cool against his still heated skin. He'd taken care of the adrenaline with a cool blast of water that made him shriek and a calming cup of chamomile tea. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. 

A few hours later, John entered the bedroom with a weary sigh. His suit was rumpled. He passed a hand over his face as if to wipe away exhaustion. Walter followed silently. He shucked off his jacket and hung it up in the closet. 

"Shhh, Alex is sleeping," Walter cautioned. "He must have had a class today." 

"Yeah, he mentioned the schedule change last night. I wonder if Fox is writing." 

Walter shrugged and helped John undress. John gave him a thankful smile. "I don't hear any typing or music." 

"Or monotone mumbling." 

"Right. Maybe he went out." 

Alex stirred and opened his eyes, sleepily yawning and curling and stretching. "Hey guys, home already? I didn't realize it was that late. Do you mind take-out tonight? I'm still tired and I have to sing at the club tonight." 

"Sure Alex that's fine. What are you in the mood for?" Walter hung up both their suits and they were quickly down to briefs and undershirts. 

"Hmm, well I wouldn't mind you two for appetizers." He grinned lazily. 

Walter smiled back. "Besides us, baby." He sat on the bed and stroked Alex's unruly hair. 

"I need lots of carbs and proteins. How about some chicken and ribs and roasted potatoes? Maybe a salad too with one of those garlic loaves." Alex licked his lips hungrily. 

"Sounds like you're famished." 

"I am. I had a protein bar and some juice when I got home from teaching, but my stomach's grumbling again." 

"Sounds good. John?" 

"Uh, yeah, that's fine. I'm not too hungry so whatever Alex wants is fine." 

Alex frowned at John's low mood. "What's the matter? Something happen?" He turned to Walter for an explanation. 

Walter sighed heavily. He took Alex into his arms and pressed close to the clean, fresh smell of his lover. "Yeah, honey, remember that missing teen Natalie that we've been searching for?" 

Alex nodded. 

"We found her. Actually the cops found her." 

"That's good isn't it?" 

"She's dead," Walter said flatly. 

"Aw shit, I'm sorry. Do they know what happened?" 

Walter shrugged. "It's definitely a homicide case. She was beaten, found half naked. She'd been dead a few weeks by the looks of the decomposition of her body. The coroner and techs will be able to give the police more information once the autopsy is completed and the crime scene has been swept thoroughly." 

"Do they have suspects?" Alex patted the bed beside him. John sat down and Alex took his hand. 

"Not yet, but the police are going to interview the boyfriend again." 

"Except there's one problem," John interjected. 

"What's that?" 

"They can't find him. He's disappeared, clothes and personal belongings are missing from his apartment and his bank account's been closed." 

"Fuck, that sucks. I thought you said he had an alibi? You already interviewed him a couple of times, same as the cops." 

"Yeah, it looked solid, but it seems his witnesses have recanted under duress." 

"Shit, I hope you catch the bastard. Any leads?" 

"A few," Walter said. "We've been working on it all day and I know one of the detectives working the case so the cops have welcomed any information we can give them." 

"It doesn't hurt that we're ex-FBI either," John said softly. 

"You'll find him," Alex promised. He pulled both of his lovers into a hug. 

Walter and John showered together in an effort to rid the nasty feel of the day's discovery. Alex dressed and called in the dinner order to their favorite chicken and rib place that delivered. 

He was still on the phone when Fox walked in the door. He gave Alex a kiss on the cheek on the side that wasn't covered by the telephone. 

Fox emptied his pockets of change, gave Walter and John a welcoming kiss home and listened silently as they informed him of their case. His mood was now just as low as theirs. 

While shuffling through the mail that Alex had tossed on the desk he found a small notebook. He opened it up in curiosity. It was in Alex's hand-writing. 

They were all short sentences, seemingly random. He scanned the lined paper quickly and frowned. One sentence was "You can think whatever you want, just keep it in your head." 

Then "the difficulties of undercover work" with short dashes next to it and a short list (finding shelter in the desert during a sand storm, a funny nose and moustache don't make good disguises, improvised explosives). 

The next line was "happiness is a warm gun," next to a doodle of a face which was frowning and had stars instead of eyes to indicate it was dead with a sketch of a smoking gun next to it. 

"How to survive in a missile silo or any other dreary cave." There was a doodle of black drops dripping from the end of the sentence. 

Alex announced that dinner was on the way. 

"What is this Alex? What sort of list is it?" Fox asked. John and Walter went downstairs to set the table, have a pre-dinner drink and watch the news. 

Alex thought carefully before telling him. He'd slid his hand over the notebook and put it down casually as if it meant nothing. "It's just a little project I'm working on. I was just trying to come up with chapter titles and stuff like that." 

"A book? You're writing a book?" Fox asked, his face paling. 

"Um, no, nothing really big. It's just sort of a handbook or manual, I guess you'd call it." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"It's nothing, really. I was approached by the CIA about writing a manual for agents who are being groomed for undercover work. It's just basic information about covert operations. Think of it as "dummies for spies". That's all it is. It's just a short little book." 

Fox huffed out a sigh and drew his tight shoulders up. "So you're going to write a book now and you didn't even have the guts to tell me? You played a chicken shit really well and now you're doing it again." 

"I just didn't want to upset you. I didn't even give them an answer yet. I was just thinking up some things. And don't call me chicken shit, because I'm not and you know it." There was a hard look in Alex's eyes, not quite angry, but indignant. 

"Are you trying to best me? Is that it?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

"I'm writing the ultimate book on UFO abductions with the hard evidence we've obtained on the existence of extraterrestrials, mind you with no leaking of classified documents to worry the public or the government and here you are writing a how-to book on rigging home made explosives and the joys of owning a semi-automatic." 

"You know for a man whose fingerprints have probably been worn off from jacking off so much you're a pissy little bastard. This book, if and when I do write it, will not compete with your tell-all, ultimate UFO abductee's handbook." 

Fox turned away with a hurt hangdog look on his face and that pouting lip pushed out. Alex rolled his eyes. He hated that expression on his lover's face. 

Fox was in profile, his face lit up with brilliant evening sunshine just before the sun began to set. Alex was reminded of a favorite poem of his by Boris Pasternak. It began "You're here, we breathe the selfsame air. Your presence here is like the city, like quiet Kiev wrapped in sultry sunbeams there outside the window." 

He knew better than to fight any further. Fox would come out of his sulk on his own, perhaps with a bit of coaxing and caressing. He went downstairs to dinner. It was a quiet affair, with Fox ignoring Alex while Walter and John picked at their food, neither one noticing the tension at the table. 

Alex kissed Walter and John good-bye, giving them both another crushing hug and murmuring words of comfort. He approached Fox warily and was able to just plant a small kiss on his cheek before Fox turned away. That was more painful that the idea of a Brazilian bikini wax. 

* * *

Alex started with his signature tune "Devil may care" and went right into a series of upbeat, bouncy tunes that were somewhere between big band numbers and jazz songs. Amy's hands were like thin-legged spiders crawling up and down the keys frantically. Alex kept in time with the band, breathlessly finishing with "Fly me to the moon". 

They had a well-deserved break. Alex wiped the sweat from his brow and had a cup of herbal tea that would re-hydrate him and calm his adrenaline-pumped body. It also soothed his over-worked throat. 

They returned with a more melancholy, thoughtful mood in their next set filling it with traditional songs that had haunting melodies and lyrics like "Summertime" which always gave him chills and "my funny Valentine". 

Alex was heartened to see his lovers enter the club. He knew Walter had spent some time soothing Fox's hurt feelings about the book, calming him about the alleged competition he was going to face from his lover. All night Alex had sung his broken heart out. Music always managed to soothe and comfort him. Fox's appearance was welcome though Alex was a bit nervous. 

To welcome the three of them and especially Fox, he told the band to play "Fever." The sultry tune made the audience sit up and pay attention. The song was made for Alex's voice and in spite of his temper tantrum, it made Fox smile. 

They found an empty table and ordered drinks. The candle-light flickered in front of them, giving the club a warm aura. 

He dedicated the next set to Fox. It was filled with melancholy and wistful songs like Norah Jones' "come away with me", some Tom Waits classics, Joni Mitchell's "a case of you" and finished with Sarah McLachlan's "possession". 

Amy and Jeff were in perfect sync with each other, piano and acoustic guitar one instrument, with Alex's voice wistful and raspy, the lyrics by turns hopeful and sweet, raw and sad. 

Fox flushed at the emotions the lyrics and Alex's interpretation evoked. He was writing their history in song. He took a quick sip of his drink and looked mostly at the table top in a mixture of shame and pride. The scarred wood blurred before his eyes. 

He was accompanied only by Amy at the keyboards on "possession". The lyrics brought tears to both their eyes. 

His voice cracked slightly at "through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed. Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved. Oh you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhyme. My body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive. And I would be the one to hold you down, kiss you so hard." His voice was a broken whisper now, "I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes dear." 

He bravely finished the song, tears shimmering in his eyes making them greener than usual, like rich moss under water. He bowed his head and thanked the audience at the thunderous applause. 

During the next break Fox entered the small lounge in the back where the band and bar staff sat on breaks, drinking, smoking and eating. Alex stood up immediately and Fox ushered him outside into the alley in the back of the club. Fox pulled him close and pressed his cheek against Alex's to feel his damp flushed skin. 

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole," he whispered. "Forgive me?" 

Alex crushed him into a tighter hug. "Yes, of course. I understand why you were upset. I was even a little worried about telling you. Excited but scared you'd think I was competing with you." He pushed out the breath he'd been holding in a strangled sigh. 

"Aw honey, don't be scared to tell me good things like that. It's a terrific opportunity." He pulled away to look at Alex squarely. "I was being selfish. Your book has nothing to do with mine. It was dumb to act like that. I'm proud of you, you know that?" 

Alex smiled in relief. "Thanks. That's all I want. For you to be proud of me, to make you guys happy, especially after all the hell I put you through." 

"Hush now. This has nothing to do with the past. We've buried that so far under it's never going to be dug up again. Do you hear me? I can't wait to read this book. And judging from your titles it'll be a bestseller." 

Alex shrugged. "Only operatives are going to read it you know. It's not going to be an Oprah's book club pick." 

Fox laughed. "You never know." 

"Now your tome just might be." 

"I hope so." 

"If you need some inspiration, I'm here. Whatever you need, a muse, a kick in the pants, an editor, a sounding board. I'll always be here." 

"You better," Fox whispered throatily and pulled Alex in for a tender kiss then continued up his neck until Alex growled. "I'm counting on it." 

"I'll never let you down." Alex kissed his damp cheek. "Come on, let's get some iced tea then I need to wash my face. I can't go on stage all teary-eyed," he complained good-naturedly and wiped at his eyes. 

"Need one of these?" 

"Jeez Walter you scared me," Alex complained. He took the offered white handkerchief. "But on the other hand you're always in the right place at the right time." 

"Let's go inside. John's moping and I have a request." 

"What is it?" 

"Honeysuckle rose." 

"Holy hell, I'll need a whole canister of sugar in that iced tea to sing that number." 

"Here's an energy boost." Fox kissed him soundly. 

"Hmm, that's a start." 

* * *

John locked up the car and garage while Alex and the others lingered outside. It was a balmy summer night, with just the slightest hint of breeze to ruffle leaves, a brilliant slice of moon between the stars in the black velvet sky. Alex could smell the sweet scent of the roses wafting in the warm air and the sharp tang coming from the pine trees and the rosemary bush that had been a small branch growing roots a few months ago. Whenever he needed seeds, a cutting or gardening advice he just had to go down the street to see Lucio, the Italian gardener extraordinaire. The man didn't have a green thumb, he had ten fingers filled with growing magic. 

Alex was startled by a flare of bright green light. It went out and there was another just a few feet away. 

"Fireflies," he exclaimed. 

Fox and Alex followed the floating insects as they hovered in one corner of the backyard. Green flashes signaled to each other. 

Alex was reminded of one of his favorite novels as they watched the blinking lights. The image of Gatsby raising his arms out to the green light at the end of Daisy's dock, that always eluded him. 

He put his arm around Fox as they watched the glowing insects. John and Walter joined them and they stood there grinning and watching in fascination as the green lights blinked like tiny Christmas bulbs. 

Alex sighed, still feeling a bit melancholy but satisfied too. It was fleeting moments like this that brought pleasure to his life, that banished the dark memories away. He could feel Fox's warm hand on the small of his back, feel John's gentle blue eyes watching him curiously, Walter's silent stoic presence. 

"What are you smiling about? Fireflies amuse you that much?" Fox asked. 

"Their color. Don't you think green is hopeful?" 

"It sure is." Fox looked deep into his eyes. "It's always been one of my favorites. Let's go inside." 

They moved upstairs as one and went about their familiar bed time rituals, all four climbing into bed and curling about each other to give unspoken comfort.   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to laurel


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